


The Reluctant Hero

by Ezzy



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Gen, M/M, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-18
Updated: 2013-01-18
Packaged: 2017-11-25 22:22:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/643567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ezzy/pseuds/Ezzy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not that Charles has anything against a Mutant Cause, it's just that he's meant to be studying genetics, not starting it. And he certainly has no intention of leading it, thank you very much. </p>
<p>The Cause appears to have other ideas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Reluctant Hero

It all starts with, of all things, a thesis. Or rather, the extremely polite and evidently painstakingly written letter addressed to him from a Harvard post-grad doing his thesis, and was clearly ‘a fan’. Having only recently completed his own, the experience was such a novelty he decides to call this McCoy in person rather than reply by letter, and once the boy gets over his stammering and sudden speech impediment it goes rather well. This might go some way in explain why he agreed to meet with the boy once he returned to America. 

To be fair to Charles, the boy had seemed intelligent and well informed, and he’d certainly not expected the almost qualified doctor to all but throw himself at him. Or that his attempts to soften the boy with a little glass of something would lead to an in-depth discussion about hypothetical mutants, which would then led to confessions. 

But by this part he’d invested himself in Hank’s research (it was interesting, and it couldn’t hurt Charles for his name to be on another paper so soon after his own) and so investing himself into helping the boy himself wasn’t such a big step. 

And if Hank somehow took it into his head to move into Charles’ Westchester mansion, well, the place was too big for one man anyway, and at least he’d provide good company and was willing to let Charles ramble on about genetics as much as he liked. 

 

Helping Darwin is more of a spontaneous decision, but goodness if the boy managed to survive a car crash he was clearly meant to remain within the genetic pool, and helping him out would ultimately benefit humanity. Besides, he had turned the cab so he’d get the brunt of the collision and not Charles, so he did owe him. 

It seemed genuinely nice people were so rare in this world (and it was hard to fool Charles) that inviting him back for a night of drinks and recuperation would only be a positive. 

Charles hadn’t, however, factored in Hank rhapsodising so grandly about him, Darwin would choose to remain in the mansion and become part of Charles’ ‘cause’.

The last time he’d checked Charles hadn’t had a ‘cause’ and certainly had no desire to acquire one. But the fact remained Darwin had saved his life, and besides, his mutation was so interesting. And, he’d so innocently thought, what was one more?

 

One more turned into a few more when being in the wrong place at the wrong time had meant he’d had to help out the silly idiot who’d used his mutation to shatter the supposedly shatter-proof glass at the aquarium. 

Charles decided then and there he was clearly some kind of mutant-magnet and if he wanted to avoid such scenes again, he’d clearly have to avoid going into public as often. Besides, he thought somewhat mulishly, it wasn’t like he didn’t have enough company at home to keep him occupied. 

The next mutant in distress he came across was just going to have to stew in it, he decided peevishly, before rolling over in another attempt to go to sleep whilst housing a human banshee. 

 

He awoke the next morning pale and strained, and resigned to the fact that his dream was far too real to let the poor mutant he’d seen ‘stew in it’. Solitary confinement for something he’d accidentally done with his powers was no joke, and now that Xavier had seen him he supposed he was reluctantly responsible. 

Claiming to be setting up a school for delinquents had seemed such an easy lie to extract Alex with when he discovered how many mirrors and windows Sean had broken in the night. However what he hadn’t expected was for Alex to ask about the curriculum of this ‘school’ with genuine interest. 

The sinking feeling Charles experienced when the other boys’ eyes lit up at that was one that could have reached the seventh circle of hell. He’d expected Alex to go on his merry way now that freedom was in his grasp, not want to join the rag-tag team of misfits who seemed to have got it into their heads that he had any kind of plan or higher purpose for them. 

 

When he’d rescued Angel (real name, or any name that wasn’t potentially a stripper name unknown), he’d done it because there was no way even on the end of his rope Xavier was going to allow rape whilst he was around to prevent it. 

However he had been quick to point out that after giving her the now well rehearsed ‘you are not alone’ speech that he lived with four awkward, possibly dangerous and definitely hormonal young men, and was relieved to send her a-questing to find a place she better fit in. 

(She would later find this in a group who called themselves, with no hint of irony, ‘The Brotherhood’, and tell their possibly unhinged leader all about the powerful telepath who was uniting mutants and had rescued her with only his mind. Charles often found himself cursing his apparently in-built ability to awe and inspire. He just wanted to teach genetics, dammit.)

He did this with a mental pat on his back, and was so smug about it he supposed it was only fair that fate send him a naked blue fridge invader in the night. 

He only sighed and asked her if she had a floor preference for her bedroom and if she’d like a cup of tea. 

 

When the man in the billowing magenta cape had turned up in his library, Charles hadn’t even questioned how he’d gotten in, just added another strike to his mental tally of Actual Real Live Mutants. Then he went to his drinks cabinet. 

After a finger or three of whiskey, he quickly decided that anyone who broke into other people’s homes at god forsaken times of the morning wearing such ensembles were clearly psychopaths, despite how attractive they might look in such ridiculous gear. He also made the decision to delay his screaming and potentially tear filled break down until after the lunatic had left. Then, not being able to think of anything else, he asked the stranger with even less fashion sense than himself if he’d like to play chess. That was his first big mistake.

It seemed Charles’ cause had come to him. 

Bollocks.


End file.
